LI. A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks, But these and half their fame have pass'd away, And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks; Their very graves are gone, and what are they? Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday, And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray; But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. LII. Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, Yet not insensibly to all which here Awoke the jocund birds to early song In glens which might have made even exile dear: Joy was not always absent from his face, But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace. LIII. Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. It is in vain that we would coldly gaze LIV. And he had learn'd to love,-I know not why, Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, LV. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, Had stood the test of mortal enmities Still undivided, and cemented more By peril, dreaded most in female eyes; But this was firm, and from a foreign shore Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour! 1. The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, K 2. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; But one thing want these banks of Rhine,— Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! 3. I send the lilies given to me; 'Though long before thy hand they touch, 4. The river nobly foams and flows, Nor could on earth a spot be found Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! LVI. By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, Honour to Marceau! o'er whose early tomb Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. LVII. Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career,— His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes; And fitly may the stranger lingering here Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose; For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not o'erstept The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons; he had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. LVIII. Here Ehrenbreitstein, with her shatter'd wall Black with the miner's blast, upon her height But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight, And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain— On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in vain. LIX. Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted LX. Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu! There can be no farewell to scene like thine; Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine! The brilliant, fair, and soft,—the glories of old days, LXI. The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near them fall. |